𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 | 𝟏𝟖+

𝟗. Yes You are Sold

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ikshita POV

I ran—heart hammering, lungs burning—toward home. The streets blurred beneath my heels, adrenaline pushing me faster than my thoughts. It wasn't too far, not really, until the massive gates of the mansion swung open at the sight of me, the guards snapping to attention and letting me through like some unstoppable force barreling into their world.

"Dadaaa!" I called loudly, voice echoing, full of relief and panic—but all that answered me was the hollow reverberation bouncing off the empty halls of the mansion.

I froze for a heartbeat, chest tightening. Something was... off.

"Kaki! Where is Dada?" I asked, spotting the butler moving calmly beside the entrance, polishing some silver with meticulous care.

She looked up, serene, almost amused, and pointed toward the door.
"He is out, princess," she replied softly.

I blinked. Out? Out? How could he be out? My mind raced, confusion and irritation mixing into a potent storm.

I frowned, crossing my arms, muttering under my breath. "How are they out... when everything—everything—has been chaos today?"

No answers came. Only silence. Only the weight of the mansion pressing around me like it knew something I didn't.

With a frustrated sigh, I turned back toward my room, determined to regroup, to think, to plan. But as I moved, my steps slowed. Something—or someone—made the shadows in the corridor twist differently. My eyes caught the familiar darkness at the alleyway inside the mansion, the place where shadows clung and secrets hid.

Damn. I had walked—no, marched—too much for one day. Too much cardio, too much stress, too much chaos for my already overworked body to handle. Every muscle screamed in protest, every step felt like dragging a ton of lead, and yet... I pushed myself.

I knew it wouldn't be long before my body completely lost it—before my legs buckled, before my back refused to hold me—but still, I fought. Still, I moved.

And then... suddenly, a voice sliced through the haze of my exhaustion, sharp and venomous.

"Why are you disturbing the peace of the mansion?"

I whipped my head around, exhausted eyes narrowing, only to see her. My stepmother, perched there like a viper in silk, eyes cold and calculating, lips curved into that insufferable little smirk that said I'm always one step ahead.

"What?" I asked, voice arching in disbelief, one hand immediately shooting out to grip the table for support as my legs threatened mutiny.

Her gaze was sharp, probing, like she could see straight through every lie, every exhaustion, every trick I might try to pull.

"Where have you been the whole night?" she demanded, each word dripping suspicion, control, and that undeniable sense that she thought she owned the answers to my life.

I slid my gaze past her, careful, calculating, down to my clothes—the slightly disheveled mess that screamed of rebellion, adventure, and exactly the kind of trouble she would never approve of.

And I smiled inwardly. Exhausted? Maybe. But defeated? Never.

His lipstick stains were still there, red and obvious, and she sat glaring at those marks like they were the last meal on her plate.

"Taking your family rival inside me, and as sure as good fuck he had a bigger dick compared to all the men in this house."

I snapped, watching her smile falter into something thin and surprised.